


A Cool Day In Camelot

by Cabbagiez



Category: High Noon Over Camelot - The Mechanisms (Album), The Mechanisms (Band)
Genre: Developing Relationship, Drumbot Brian Needs A Hug, First Kiss, Fluff, Gentleness, Light Angst, M/M, Mutual Pining, Nonverbal Communication, Pre-Canon, Religion, Romantic Fluff, Touch-Starved
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-21
Updated: 2021-01-21
Packaged: 2021-03-12 15:22:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,033
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28887561
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cabbagiez/pseuds/Cabbagiez
Summary: It was a cool day in Camelot, which really wasn’t saying much considering how heavy the heat waves beat down on the town on every other day. But a cool day it was- though if the Pendragons had access to the climate control of the satellite they called their home, they would know it was only five degrees lower than usual. But when usual was so hot you could fry a leg, you learned to welcome these moments, however brief.Galahad, on a nicer day than usual, decides to read his book beside the Hanged Man, and has a rather nice conversation in the process.
Relationships: Drumbot Brian (The Mechanisms)/Galahad (High Noon Over Camelot)
Comments: 5
Kudos: 38





	A Cool Day In Camelot

It was a cool day in Camelot, which really wasn’t saying much considering how heavy the heat waves beat down on the town on every other day. But a cool day it was- though if the Pendragons had access to the climate control of the satellite they called their home, they would know it was only five degrees lower than usual. But when usual was so hot you could fry a leg, you learned to welcome these moments, however brief.

One such person was welcoming one such moment by choosing to read his holy book- written hundreds of years before he was born, and of no use to anyone in the town aside from him -outdoors, rather than holing himself away in the building that could qualify as a church in certain lighting and angles, if you squinted. He exited said building with a nervous smile- though all of his smiles were nervous, even with the cool confidence he held on a daily basis -towards the others around him, their calls of “Howdy, preacher man,” and “G’morning!” being met with nods and waves. 

It wasn’t that the preacher man didn’t want to talk to them- far from it, in fact. He  _ wanted _ to have a conversation, for them to listen to what he had to say, but many of them weren’t listening. He was okay with that, though- meant more energy for the man in town he really liked to see. He approached a specific area of town, brushing aside the dust in a particular spot as if that made any difference, and sat, adjusting his glasses for the glare. 

“Galahad?” A voice called- slightly above and to the right of him. A larger smile formed on his face as Galahad looked up, making eye contact with the Hanged Man. He was upside down of course, hanging by his brass ankles wrapped in rope and wires. His hair was tied and pinned to the back of his worn shirt, open at the chest, exposing a carving that had long lost its original meaning. Not that his wire hair would’ve shifted in any case but, better safe than sorry. His wrists were tied by rope, rusted to their spot against the Hanged Man’s back. And Galahad thought he was beautiful.

“Howdy, Merlin,” Galahad replied warmly, his light brown eyes- the kind of brown that you saw in a pot of brown sugar. -shining at the sight of him. “It’s cooler than usual- though I reckon you probably can’t feel it?”

Merlin clicked his tongue, a noise that served the same purpose as a shrug, and let out a low hum. Silence. Then he clicked his tongue again, and spoke. “I can,” he said, “but not as well as you. What are you reading?”

“The same thing I’m always reading, Merlin,” Galahad replied, laughing. “The only book in this place.”

Another gentle hum. “A shame that’s the only one,” Merlin said, “doesn’t it get boring, reading the same one over and over?”

“No,” Galahad replied, turning a page, “I may know exactly what it says, but I like reading it anyway. I want new stories, I can just ask one of the others- they have plenty to tell. But, this one, it don’t change. It’s exactly what it says on the page, no matter what. It’s comforting.”

Merlin made a noise of acknowledgement, his features shifting into an expression of consideration- even if it took longer to do, he felt it was more polite than thinking blankly. “It’s comforting, to know exactly what happens?” He asked.

“Sure is,” Galahad replied, “when everything else in this life is so unpredictable. My faith helps keep me sane!” He laughed, but it was hollow- it wasn’t the amused chuckle he had let out previously. It was a laugh that made Merlin ache, in that sentimental, painfully human way.

“Oh,” the Hanged Man replied. He watched from the corner of his eye as Galahad went back to reading, a frown now on the other man’s face. Merlin knew how this went- if he asked about it, the preacher would explain it was a frown of concentration, and Merlin would have to accept it. Even though he knew Galahad did not  _ frown  _ when he concentrated. He squinted, he furrowed his brows, he stuck his tongue out and skewed his mouth firmly to the left, but he  _ never _ frowned. Merlin felt awful. He thought asking was a good thing- he wouldn’t have, couldn’t have done it otherwise. The switch permanently installed on his back said so. More than that, his own conscience said so. He didn’t like seeing the other man upset. Merlin would have said something else, apologized for distressing the preacher, but Galahad’s mind had already wandered.

“Hanged Man?” he asked, using a name he didn’t often. It was what the rest of the Pendragons called him, but Galahad only did so in moments where he had to be dead serious.

“Yes, Galahad?” Merlin replied, wishing he could turn his head to meet the other’s eyes.

“What are you?”

In any normal situation, that question sent ice down Merlin’s metal spine, dread in his still-beating heart. But, it was Galahad. The preacher didn’t mean harm. So with an inhale- though at this point whether the motion was necessary or habit was up for debate -Merlin clicked his tongue once again. “I am not mortal,” he began. Quietly, nervously. Eying Galahad like he might attack, even if that action made him feel guilty immediately afterward.

“Merlin, I  _ knew _ that already,” Galahad said after a pause, letting out a full and hearty laugh. “You’ve been hanging out here since before our Sheriff took over this town, there’s no possible way you  _ could _ be mortal, even if you weren’t all metal.” 

“Hah,” Merlin laughed, “I suppose you’re right. Well… I will answer your question, don’t- don’t worry. It would be wrong of me not to. But… what do you think I am?”

Galahad considered the question-  _ ah, _ there was the real concentration face. For a brief moment Merlin let himself consider the other man adorable, but then it was back to business.

“You ain’t mortal,” Galahad said softly, “you’ve been here for longer than any of us could ever hope to remember. You know things from past our world, things we can’t understand. The things you tell us don’t make sense, but- it feels like you know they’re true.”

Merlin hummed in acknowledgement, waiting for the other to finish. All of these things  _ were _ correct, after all. 

“Merlin… what else could you be but a god?” The preacher asked. Merlin was taken aback, and it showed in his face. Maybe he should have expected Galahad’s conclusion, but, somehow it had slipped his mind. 

“ _ No _ ,” he said hastily- too hastily. Too loudly, it startled the preacher, may have even frightened him. Immediately Merlin felt horrible-  _ again _ he had misjudged the right option, and  _ again _ he upset the one man who spoke to him like a person in this place. He had to keep going though, to clarify. It was the right thing to do. “I am not a god, Galahad,” Merlin said, in a softer tone, “though I… guess I’m not exactly a person, either.”

Galahad watched as Merlin’s face skewed again, slowly into a mournful, yet resigned expression. His heart broke. “No- no!  _ Damn _ it, Merlin, you-“ He took a breath, channeling all of his goodwill- even if he almost couldn’t reach it through anger at people,  _ his _ people. Merlin was not mortal, but he  _ was _ a person. As much as Galahad wanted to, he couldn’t shift the blame. He couldn’t say it was just the Stones who treated the other man this way. Everyone had. Everyone was another link in this dreadful chain. “Don’t say that, Merlin. Please. It ain’t true.” He reached up despite himself, placing a hand against the warm, tarnished metal of Merlin’s upside down cheek. “You and me both know those bastards don’t see anything not in front of their faces- and I love ‘em to death but, they’re  _ wrong _ about you. And you’re wrong, too.”

Merlin was silent, but his face was shifting again. It took a minute, but his mournful look was replaced by a wary, yet warm one. The last time he had physical contact with anyone was the year they strung him up. If he were still made of flesh, his face would’ve been quite red. He hummed- a deep note of appreciation, of affection, of-

No, surely Galahad was misinterpreting. This wonderful man, who was no man yet no god, to him the preacher must’ve just been one of thousands. Millions, maybe. And yet, he kept his hand there. In fact he dared to set his book on the ground, and cup Merlin’s other cheek. He was on his knees, eyes just slightly too high to look into the other’s, his face- unexpectedly close. Galahad’s eyes drifted to the Hanged Man’s lips, but his daring had all but ran out. Instead, not wanting to close or further the distance between them, he whispered, “You haven’t answered my question.”

“Haven’t I?” Merlin whispered in return, his smile growing. 

Galahad shook his head. “But that doesn’t matter,” he admitted, laughing a little. “You’re a prophet, the Hanged Man, but- you... you’re  _ Merlin. _ ”

“I’m Merlin,” he agreed, chuckling too. “And you’re Galahad.”

“And I’m Galahad,” he murmured, scarcely audible. Galahad sounded so small beside mighty Merlin, but he let himself feel bigger. Even if he was a preacher man without a congregation on most days, at least he felt that Merlin believed. Valued him.  _ Listened. _ In that moment, it was only the two of them. Anyone could be near, anyone could be watching- but Galahad didn’t notice or care.  _ Let the bastards watch, _ he thought, letting out a little laugh under his breath.

“So, Galahad,” Merlin whispered, “what do you…?” His own eyes had drifted, glancing at the other man’s lips. Hoping and praying he hadn’t misread the signals. 

Galahad’s face grew warm, and he shifted his index finger to tap on Merlin’s metal lips. Asking permission. Merlin let out a hum of approval, and slowly Galahad closed their distance.

Galahad had never kissed anyone before. He supposed to himself it lived up to the praises those around him had sung- even if his partner was rusty and tarnished, he didn’t have it in him to care. It was Merlin. It was  _ perfect. _

He pulled away, having to readjust the glasses that had nearly fallen off his face, and the first noise that came from his throat was laughter. “Well- is it, is it mighty hot out here, Merlin, or…?” He managed to joke, internally cringing at his poor attempt at humor.

Even if it was a bad joke, it made Merlin laugh. He needed a moment to compose himself- after so long without anything, a loving kiss made him feel warm and wobbly. If he were upright, he would’ve fallen. “Hotter than usual?” He replied, “I can feel it.”

“Not as well as me?” Galahad asked, almost letting his nerves show.

“No,” Merlin replied, “as much as you- and perhaps more.” Those words were utterly flooded with the one emotion Galahad hadn’t expected.  _ Love. _

Galahad needed his own moment to process, looking away with a flustered laugh and a “ _ Merlin! _ ” Soon after, he shifted back to be seated- though closer to Merlin now, his head resting against his shoulder. He picked his book up again, beginning to read. But in the afternoon heat, it wasn’t long before happiness and exhaustion made the preacher man’s eyes droop shut, his book still open in his lap.

Galahad had black hair lightly bleached from the sunlight, tied in a ponytail as it moved near constantly, and it was better safe than sorry. His white shirt, slightly yellow from the dust, was buttoned up except for an open collar, the sleeves folded neatly above his elbows. His wrist was stained with ink from copying his book, the other slightly calloused from resting on his desk for too long, and his glasses constantly askew on his face from falling asleep with them on.

And Merlin thought he was beautiful.

**Author's Note:**

> I hope you all enjoyed!


End file.
